AllFreeNovel
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“Fixing this.” I step out of the way and shoot an SOS text to the last person I want to deal with. But in a few minutes, I’m going to be in the market for a good lawyer.
I pump up my media mask, sorting through years of Mom’s flippant advice, but since she’d never sacrifice herself for anyone else, I’ve got nothing. When I turn to Gretchen, I’m on my own.
chapter 29
Jess
The football team thinks T and I have already christened his backseat when we haven’t even made it past first base. His friends are horny jerks. Especially Sarge. How do T and Allie stand him? You know what T did at lunch today? He kissed my hair and whispered, “Lizzie, you’re my favorite person.” No one’s ever called me Lizzie. No one’s ever picked me as their favorite.
~ from the diary of Elizabeth Sara Thorne (age16)
Alone in the elevator, I lose my manufactured bravado, stagger into the corner, and fight the vacuum that wants to suck me in. I rip out my braid, catching hair in the process. I messed up saving Gabe. And he won’t be able to save me either. Not unless he can delete every ugly picture people are going to post.
In a stupid move for someone stumbling for solid ground, I drop my sweater, take out my phone, and type in#Gabrica. The first pic that pops up could be my morning-after mugshot.
A sharp ding stops the elevator too soon for my floor. The doors open to the lobby. Vi’s holding a cup of coffee, talking to Donna.
In my head, I dive for the door-closed button, but before my body gets the message to follow through, Vi looks up. “Saint Francis of Assisi. What happened to you?” Her eyes widen, and she fumbles with her drink.
“There were reporters...?”
“Did you get Gabriel back to his room?” Vi’s gaze bounces past me to the back of the empty elevator.
“Not exactly.” I can’t even getmeback to my room.
Her attention zooms in on my phone, and she steps into the elevator, takes it, shoves her coffee at Donna who’s followed her, and stares at the screen.
I know what she sees. Mascara-streaked cheeks. Messed-up hair. And me hanging on Gabe, half-dressed.
It’s the version of me everyone will see. Not the girl whose single sexual experience came in the form of one tame kiss at the bottom of an escalator. Not the girl who’s nowhere near ready to give her body, or her heart, to anyone. Maybe ever.
“Hmm.” Vi rotates the picture. “You look like—”
“A Kardashian?” Donna’s cut stings like a slap.
Enlarging the picture, Vi points to theFamily Restroomsign. “You had sex in a public bathroom?”
I rip my phone from Vi’s hand. “No.”
“Really?” Donna’s tone labels me a liar. “Because it sure looks like—”
“I know what it looks like.” I yank up the strap on my tank, pick up my sweater off the ground, and stalk to the front of the elevator. But jabbing my finger against the button for the fifth floor doesn’t activate a turbo boost.
“Let me give you some advice.” Donna’s so close, I can’t get away from heavy perfume or her fake sincerity. “If you try to replace the attention your dad doesn’t give you this way”—she taps my phone where the picture went black—“the only thing you’ll get is used. And a bad reputation. You think your dad will be proud then?”
We’re between floors. There’s nowhere to escape. I turn my head and bite my lip so hard against the sting building behind my eyes, I taste blood. Years later, when the elevator finally opens, I tumble out.
Donna goes to follow me, but Vi says, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I make it around the corner before Vi stops me next to a decorative table. A glimpse of my refugee reflection in the beveled mirror has me turning away. “How could you tell her private things about me and Dad?”
She searches my face with something that might be concern. Or guilt for sharing my personal drama. “I might’ve made a mistake.”
She’s made a lot of mistakes. Dad comes to mind.
“Gabriel didn’thurtyou, did he?” When I don’t answer, she shakes me, almost in a panic. “Did he?”
“No.” Not the way she means. I jerk away from her into the table so hard the fake floral arrangement totters.
